When I returned I began the work of the day and winced around on my leg. I set the ox cart up and went on my milk deliveries. I ended the day with a few cans left over and sat at the stand with Charlie until he left at four o’clock for meditation. I heard the clock on the square chime the hour and thought about how nice it would be to go have a beer. Instead I rolled home in the ox cart just after it started to rain.

I turned the ox cart from the street onto the dirt road and remembered that Charlie mentioned the oldest monk of the monastery was sick. I then turned the ox cart towards the narrow downhill leading to the monastery to give them the last of the milk for his recovery. The rain began to drop quickly and so I yanked the reins to avoid being in the rain for too long. The oxen became stubborn so I yanked again and shouted. They began to yank back and when I least expected it they began a nice little gait that made the ox cart begin to welcome the downhill in a bobsled fashion. I pulled back on the reins to make the ox cart stop, and it worked.

The reins fell back so slack from my over reaction that one of the oxen pulled free and ran into the adjoining field. I yelled, “Hey, hey, no!” jumped down from the ox cart and grabbed the empty yoke. I steered the ox cart with the help from the mounted ox. It did not last long. The other ox resisted, twisted his head around unleashing the yoke and off he went frolicking with the loose one, like a goat that’s busted loose. I was wet from the rain and suddenly saw the ox cart come loose from the mud and head straight at me. The ox cart is very heavy and, at times, has a mind of its own. I tried to hold it from rolling with all my strength, but could not. I grabbed the main bow and pulled it to the left and the ox cart rolled into the driveway of the monastery going downhill, but as I moved to get out of the path of the rambling ox cart, I got right in the way of the right front wheel.

My leg still ached from the triathlon, but I put full weight on it to ditch the ox cart quickly. But I did not move fast enough to avoid the right front wheel. It ran over my ankle and twisted me under the ox cart. It threw me out the back then came to a halt, stuck in the mud. I was shocked to be face down in the mud. I refused to believe the breadth of what happened and to look at my foot. It didn’t hurt, but I knew it would be sore in the morning. I got up and winced around in a circle no worse than I did after the bike ride earlier that day. I grabbed the milk can and walked to the large wooden door not seeing the trail of blood saturated mud I left behind.